Arthur In Tights
by BeautyInSmallThings
Summary: After a drunken dare is accepted, Arthur finds himself in a maid outfit and Alfred with a riding crop in his hand. The American is out for blood (and possibly another bodily fluid) and Arthur had better give it to him, or he'll have to face the punishment... USUK lemon oneshot.


**Caution: this fic is a lemon (or erotic fiction, for those of you less versed in fanfiction language), if you hadn't guessed after reading the description. There is lots of sexually explicit content particularly after the first half. If you would feel uncomfortable reading such content then I suggest you find a fic that's more your style (this site has many I sure would appeal to you, don't worry!) Enjoy~**

Arthur Kirkland glared at his maid outfit. Why was the thing so goddamn tight? It hugged his skin, clinging to his straight-up-and-down body, and as for the tights.

He didn't even want to get started on the tights.

Grumbling to himself as he tore his eyes away from his hateful attire, he wondered to himself why the hell he was wearing it in the first place.

It all started with a dare (doesn't everything?). The British man had just been thrown of his favourite pub for being too drunk to stand and his American counterpart had told him he would have a hangover so awful he wouldn't be able to do a thing the next morning. Arthur, being an emotional drunk with emotion explosions so large they put Hiroshima to shame, countered by denying the American's statement.

(In all truthfulness it was more like he said 'nooooo I'mnot drrrrrrunk! I onlyha' fewwww beers!')

The American laughed loudly (if Alfred F. Jones was told there was any other way to laugh than loudly it would have been news to him). "Oh, really? Well what could you do tomorrow then?"

"Anythin'," Arthur exclaimed, "I can doooo anyyyyythin!" Alive with an unusual spurt of optimism, he punched the air and promptly fell over.

Alfred had never been into cleaning. His British friend, on the other hand, was a completely capable cleaner, in fact, Alfred suspected he actually enjoyed the activity, a concept that scared Alfred more than any horror movie, and that was saying something. Sensing a free deal, Alfred leaned over to the drunken man. "I bet you couldn't clean my mansion. You could never do that, drunk or otherwise," he chuckled.

"Cor' I could!"

"In a maid outfit?"

"Yes!" It was unknown whether Arthur had actually processed Alfred's request or he was too drunk to understand English any more... probably a mixture of both.

Presently, however, Arthur was stuck with another dilemma. Should he pull the outfit down a bit, to cover his lower appendage, but at the expense of his upper regions, which were even more revealed than before, and the outfit could hardly be described as modest.

Finally deciding to tug the skirt down a little, he bent down to slip a pair of black stilettos on and let a chorus of curse-words tumble out of his mouth as he took a few steps, and almost fell over. Waving his arms around like a gibbon in distress, he finally rectified himself and staggered over to the changing room curtains.

When he opened them, what he saw was not at all what he expected.

But not necessarily something he didn't like.

Alfred F. Jones stood at the back of the room with a riding crop in his hand.

"Hello, Arthur. You took your time, though I must admit," he looked the Brit up and down, "it was worth the wait."

"What the hell?" Arthur exclaimed.

A smile grew on the American's slightly parted lips, "tut tut, Arthur Kirkland, that's no way to speak to your master."

"Your master? What am I, your slave?"

"That," Alfred smiled, "is exactly what you are."

Arthur blinked slowly, his jaw falling open in surprise. Was this really Alfred F. Jones? He looked at the American, who was clad in a dark, Gothic suit with cut-off shorts that ended just above the knee, silk gloves and knee-high boots. The suit jacket and shorts were decorated with belts and buckles that swayed at the American's slightest movement.

Who was this new Alfred? This Alfred was mysterious, dominant and sexy as fuck. No, being sexy was nothing new for Alfred, Arthur decided. He'd always thought the American was rather hot. Every time he so much as glanced at Alfred he found himself fantasising about ripping the American's shirt off and running his tongue over those solid abs... and only a few short moments later the two would be bringing a new meaning to sex, a whole step forward in the evolution of butt-fuck.

It was unfortunate that Arthur found himself thinking about such things as the American stood a few metres away, his tanned hand itching to use the riding crop. More specifically, it was unfortunate that the British man was so obviously was turned on – his green eyes were wide and round as full moons, and his dilating pupil created an eclipse. He licked his lips, his tongue not being the only thing that was moist.

"That is no way for a slave to look at his master," the American said coolly, making his way over to Arthur.

"No," Arthur denied, "I wasn't looking at you like that!"

He froze, mid breath, as Alfred drew a pair of handcuffs from one of the many buckles adorning his jacket.

"You need to be punished, Arthur. You need to learn the error of your ways. I'm not going to give you want you want immediately, else you'll never learn. What I can do, however, is make you learn the true meaning of pain."

He walked until he was eye to eye with Arthur, until the British man could feel Alfred's breath tickling his face. Even with four-inch stilettos on, the American was still taller than Arthur. He could still look down on the blond, and writhe in his illustrious power.

In one swift motion, he pulled Arthur's hands behind his back and clicked the handcuffs onto his wrists. The American pressed his lips against Arthur's ear and whispered, "you need discipline. You need to be punished."

With that, he dragged a nervous Arthur out of the room and up the stairs. The heels of his knee-high boots tapped against the wooden surfaces and echoed up to the high ceilings. The whole mansion was alive with the power of Alfred F. Jones.

Behind him, Arthur stumbled to keep up with his new master. His mind was numb with confusion, and yet... even though he bloody terrified, he still found himself gazing at the back of Alfred's head, watching as his thick hair bounced as he walked and found himself pining to run his hands through the dirty-blond hair, feel the perfect, golden skin of his face and press the American's lips against his own in a moment of heat, longing and infinite passion.

Once Alfred reached his bedroom he shut the door behind him and turned the key in the lock, smiling as he heard the click meanwhile Arthur shivered in his maid outfit, so vulnerable with his arms tied behind his back.

Alfred turned back to Arthur and pressed the Brit stomach down onto the bed. Clutching the riding crop tighter in his hand, he leaned into the British man, the solid abs contracted against Arthur's lean back.

"Who do you belong to?" Alfred whispered into Arthur's ear.

Arthur paused just a moment too long and with a gentle smile, Alfred writhed down the British man's body and paused as his long, trailing fingertips found Arthur's skirt. With a flourish, he pulled the skirt up and tugged Arthur's underwear down to his ankles and finally off his body completely before tossing them across the room. Arthur gasped as he realised what the American had done and Alfred marvelled at the sound. He'd been yearning to hear Arthur make that beautiful sound, a confirmation of the American's control, for so long. It was worth waiting for.

"I'm going to make you scream before we even get down to the dirty," Alfred laughed and pulled his riding crop above his head before bringing it down so quickly it cut through the air and slapped hard against Arthur's bare behind.

Pain surged through the British man's body and he released it with a shrill scream. Overcome with lust, Alfred brought the riding crop down again and again, harder and harder and earned a shriek from the blond man every single time. Scarlet bruises began to form on Arthur's milky skin. Every time his master brought the torture instrument down on his body, every atom of the slave's body screamed in response. It was as if he was being electrified, as if every body cell was suddenly switched on.

Even though it was horrifically painful, even though it hurt, Arthur couldn't deny that he enjoyed it. The torture brought him nothing short of absolute pleasure.

Alfred smiled to himself and brought himself closer to Arthur, making the Brit's body tighten in fear and desire. "Shrieks of pain are music to my ears, and you, Arthur, are by far my favourite vocalist."

Arthur let a sigh escape his open lips and Alfred was once again, overcome with longing. He yanked the zip of Arthur's dress down and for one, long moment, he let himself stare at the swan-feather skin, which was so perfectly pure. He flipped Arthur body over, holding the thin, British man in his muscular arms and tore the dress from his body.

Arthur blinked. One moment he lay fully clothed and the next he was completely naked. Alfred let a grin grow on his angular face and he set himself into Arthur's body. His arms pinned Arthur down, locking the Brit into place and he began to kiss his neck, switching position until Arthur emitted a soft moan, confirming that Alfred had found the perfect spot.

Kisses weren't enough. Alfred began to nibble at his slave's neck.

"Harder," Arthur let the single word escape from his lips amongst a near noiseless groan.

Alfred considered his slave's request. Arthur had suffered his punishment well, it was only fair that he should receive a bit of a treat. With this philosophy in mind, Alfred bit hard into the fragile skin of Arthur's neck.

Arthur moaned in pleasure. Alfred was a perfect puppeteer, the master of Arthur's universe, the owner of his body. Alfred was his choreographer, and Arthur was all too willing to dance for him.

Working his way down the blond's body, Alfred let his tongue slide across Arthur's skin. When he reached Arthur's nipple, he licked and licked it, letting his tongue flick from the now hardened point. Arthur emitted a low groan in response and sensing the British man's pleasure, Alfred began to nibble on the point.

His smooth hands worked their way down Arthur's skin, which was shaking with anticipation and pleasure. Grasping Arthur's cock in his hands, he began to roughly squeeze and stroke it. After half a minute of a rough hand-job full of sexual desire, Alfred found himself unable to control his longing and encased Arthur's moderately sized manhood with his lips and began to suck. He loved the taste of Arthur's skin, it was soft and slightly sweet. Alfred wanted to taste more than skin though, and he licked Arthur's manhood delicately until the British man's breaths began quicker and shallower and finally, with a shriek, he shook with orgasm.

Liquid, thick and salty, erupted into Alfred's mouth. He let it drip from the corners of his mouth before he gratefully swallowed it, letting the glorious fruits of his blow-job labour coat his throat.

"You're ready, my slave," Alfred whispered in his seductively sexy voice and Arthur's heart beat even faster, his body still shaking from the glorious orgasm.

In a smooth motion, the master unclothed himself, tossing his buckled jacket to the floor, and his silk shorts, which were the colour of the night, off his tanned body until he straddled Arthur wearing only his tanned skin and aura of control.

Simply hitting his slave with the riding crop made Alfred hard, so this and the blow-job combined made Alfred's instrument solid as his abs and erect, with a slight curve. For a few moments, Alfred contemplated his options. Should he use lube? Should he wear a condom? He didn't ask Arthur, of course – what sort of master asked his slave for requests?

Reaching over to his ebony bedside table, Alfred grabbed a bottle of lube, squirting a modest amount of lube onto his hands (not too much, friction was good after all) and quickly oiled his erect lower region.

Arthur noticed none of this. He was almost oblivious to everything right now. Every cell of his body sang with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Arthur's heart was like the a bird's wing beat, quick and shallow and frequent. Every breath was a gasp for air, if this was Alfred's effect Arthur very much enjoyed it.

Alfred took a quick breath. His engine was oiled and he was ready.

Clutching Arthur's bony shoulders, he eased himself up to Arthur's upper leg. Slowly, he pushed a single finger in, and then another. He spread his two fingers like scissors and stretched Arthur's skin, making him moan in painful pleasure. Alfred let his smile grow wider on his face as he entered a third finger and spread them even further apart. The British man wailed in response. If this was what he was like with three fingers Alfred couldn't wait to see what noises he made when he entered his length into the Brit.

The anticipation was killing him. Alfred eased himself over the British man and pushed into Arthur, earning a high-pitched shriek. The American pushed until he was completely in and Arthur was shaking underneath him, moaning and wailing with pleasure. To Alfred, Arthur's insides were just as pleasurable as his exterior. The British man's walls were hot, tight and responsive. If the American made so much as the slightest movement, Arthur would surge with energy and readjust to fit his master's new position. His walls were so tight too, they encased Alfred's lower region with heat and the two men slotted together like a two piece jigsaw.

Alfred needed to do more though, normal sex was not enough. Judging by the amount of pleasure Arthur had received from his beating, Alfred could guess that the Brit liked it rough. Alfred liked to be rough too, he wanted to make the blond shake and scream underneath him.

Alfred pulled himself out of Arthur and let the blond wonder what was happening for a few seconds before he surged back in like a tsunami when the Brit wasn't ready. Arthur shrieked underneath him, spreading his legs and snapping them back together, letting every muscle in his arms, from his shoulders to his fingertips, shake with pure energy. Pleased with the success of this technique, Alfred repeated the process a few times, each time he played with the suspense, making Arthur wonder whether or not Alfred was going to re-enter and not expecting it when he did.

By this time, Alfred's not inconsiderable length was rock-hard and throbbing with anticipation and heat. Sensing he was almost at orgasm, Alfred made a challenge for himself. He would build the rhythm up into a glorious rhythm of intimacy. This would be the greatest sex in Arthur's life, no, in the world.

With that in mind, Alfred began to grind forwards and back, slowly at first and gradually heating up until he broke out in heavy sweat. Every moment transcended into the intense and intimate rhythm Alfred was hoping for and Arthur moaned deeply in response, letting his pleasure escape his lips in sultry, staccato whispers. The blond's pupils dilated until they were practically an eclipse over his mint-coloured iris.

Then, Arthur let out a sigh of delight as Alfred reached orgasm, the fluid erupting from his moist cock which was thoroughly submerged within his lover. The American's eyes flicked backwards with an uncontrollable surge of pleasure that spread from him to Arthur, whose eyes widened with sheer awe at the feeling and a long sigh crawled up his throat and escaped his gasping mouth.

Alfred slowly exited his lover, his chest heaving as he collapsed onto the bed next to the Brit. Arthur looked to the side and the two's eyes connected. Alfred gazed lovingly at Arthur, and the two saw each other in a way they had never before – love.

With surprising gentleness and caring, Alfred kissed Arthur's forehead. His lips were soft against the milky skin of his lover, who was still trembling slightly, reminiscent of the sexual affair - reminiscent of an experience that neither men would forget, and would change their relationship forever.

Author's note: This is my first erotic fan fiction, so terribly sorry if it wasn't very good. I think I did enough market research though... *coughs* Please favourite if you enjoyed (if means a lot) especially if you'd like me to create more of this... genre... of fan fiction. I take requests so if you have any pairings you would would like me to write about, as well as whether or not you'd like the to have a strong plot and romantic feel or whether to be pure sauce like this one. Feedback is **extremely **appreciated


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